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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165032">Mourning</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildspringflower06/pseuds/Wildspringflower06'>Wildspringflower06</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Main character death but like, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Off screen, father/son relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:47:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildspringflower06/pseuds/Wildspringflower06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Whitly was an evil man, a prolific serial killer whose body count was in the double digits. He was hated by the public and his family was scorned and cast from society. So it really shouldn't have been a surprise that the only people who turned up to his funeral were reporters.<br/>In the wake of his father's untimely death, Malcolm is left to pick up the pieces of his life and wonder why he ever cared in the first place. Luckily Gil is there to help patch his broken mind.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mourning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a tiny blurb that popped into my mind late at night when I should have been sleeping. It ends fairly open-ended because I didn't know where else to go with it.<br/>Also this is my first foray into the Prodigal Son fandom, if all goes well, expect to see me back sometime soon!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cancer.</p>
<p>Of all the obscenely mundane things to kill someone, it was cancer. Although if there was ever a human being that deserved to get cancer, it was Martin Whitly. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.</p>
<p>The irony of that hurt was not lost on Malcolm either. His father had never won any awards, no ‘father of the year’ mugs, or ‘world’s best dad’ trophies. Because his father had been a literal serial killer. A monster.</p>
<p>And yet there he was, laying on the floor of his apartment with an empty bottle of very expensive wine abandoned on the kitchen counter and another bottle of even <em>more</em> expensive whiskey already half gone, mourning a man who had once contemplated killing him.</p>
<p>That was exactly how Gil had found him, when the lieutenant had forced his way into the apartment without so much as a courtesy knock.</p>
<p>“Rude. Tha’s’jus’ rude.” Malcolm slurred, trying and failing several times to sit up before he decided that continuing to lay where he was would be the easiest option.</p>
<p>“Yeah well, are you in any state to get up and let me in yourself?” Gil snapped back, hands on his hips and shuffling his feet in the way that meant he was angry but was doing everything in his power to keep his emotions in check.</p>
<p>Malcolm was very used to this stance, as he was most likely the reason it had become a thing in the first place. He paused for a moment, considering what Gil had said before he pointed up at the man, “True.” He said, before he snorted and dissolved into a fit of laughter.</p>
<p>“Okay, I think you’ve had enough of that.” Gil grabbed the bottle of liquor before Malcolm could protest and placed it on the top of the kitchen cabinets.</p>
<p>Malcolm wasn’t tall enough to reach that high, and in his current state he would not be capable of climbing up to get it either. It also just so happened to be the last bottle of alcohol he had in his apartment. “No fair.” He pouted.</p>
<p>Gil sighed heavily and sank into the comfortable leather chair, looking down at his surrogate son forlornly. “What are ya doing Bright?”</p>
<p>“Getting drunk.” He stated, a silent ‘duh’ tacked on the end about as tactfully as a news crew at a funeral.</p>
<p>“Why?” Gil asked feebly, “He wasn’t worth it, Malcolm.”</p>
<p>“You think I don’t know that?” Bright snapped, “You think I’m not acutely aware of who, of w<em>h</em><em>at</em>, he was?”</p>
<p>“No. In fact I think you’re more aware of it than anyone.”</p>
<p>“The man was evil; he was a monster. And the world would have been a better place without him in it.”</p>
<p>“Maybe.” Gil whispered.</p>
<p>Malcolm scoffed, looking anywhere but at the man who had come to check up on him. He hated that Gil was trying to get him to open up, hated that because he was drunk it was working, hated that he could feel the telltale prickle of tears at the back of his eyes. “So.”</p>
<p>“So?”</p>
<p>The room fell silent for a moment, Gil always seeming to know when to push and when to wait. Malcolm bit at the inside of his bottom lip, before finally warm water trickled out the corners of his eyes and tracked small lines until they disappeared in the hair behind his ears. “So why does it still hurt?”</p>
<p>His breath heaved in his chest, and finally he had to let it all out, everything he’d been feeling since he’d gotten the news. He couldn’t even imagine what he must look like. He was a grown man lying on the floor, drunk off his ass at 3 in the afternoon and sobbing like a baby over a man who, by all rights, had probably never loved him. God he was so pathetic.</p>
<p>Slowly sensations started to seep back into focus, the warmth of a hand rubbing gentle circles against his shuddering back, a deep voice hushing him softly, promising him that everything would be okay.</p>
<p>“Why- do I care?” He gasped, “I don’t want to.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay you know.” Gil began, but was interrupted when Malcolm rolled over suddenly and sat up. His body pitched forward, and Gil had to lend a steadying hand until he had gotten his bearings, but then Malcolm was talking again, words jumbled but still forming a cohesive thought.</p>
<p>“You know what- what Mother did? You know what she did? She bought party poppers.” Malcolm nodded, “An’ she said, said that she’d never once in her life used them, but she couldn’t think of a better occasion to try them for the first time.”</p>
<p>Gil inhaled slowly, trying not to show a reaction, positive or negative, “Well that does sound like your mother.”</p>
<p>“Ains doesn’t- she’s not- she’s doing okay. She was sad,” Malcolm nodded again, once more biting at his lip, “But not, not much.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay to mourn, you know.” Gil reminded gently.</p>
<p>“Why, why should someone like him be mourned? He doesn’t, he’s not, he doesn’t deserve that.”</p>
<p>“I never said it was Martin you were mourning.”</p>
<p>Malcolm blinked, he paused a moment and seemed to consider what Gil had said, then blinked again. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Malcolm, you’re a victim here too. You were robbed of a normal childhood, of having happy memories from growing up, of doing things that kids should get to do. And it’s okay to be upset about that. It’s okay to feel loss over what you were deprived.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s not-” Malcolm swallowed thickly, eyebrows furrowed, “it’s not the same. I’m still here. I’m not a victim.”</p>
<p>“Kid, maybe he didn’t kill you, but he did murder any chance you had of being happy as a child.” Gil said, blinking past the mist in his own eyes.</p>
<p>Malcolm gasped, biting back a sob. “It’s not fair.” He choked out, before crumpling forward into Gil’s arms.</p>
<p>“I know kid, I know. And I’m sorry.”</p>
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